A Life Worth Living

It's 10:30 at night and I have managed to break my keyboard and lose my chance at the bathroom. Wonderful. Maybe I should take a hint and go to sleep.

As I sit here pondering random things like cake fondant, Wacom tablets, toilets, and the color red, it occurred to me that I have a little story to share with the world.

As you all know, I spent many years being depressed and anxious (and finally anorexic) without really knowing why. The more I look into these things, the more I begin to understand that there is a physiological reason for my misery, and a chemical reason why my meds have worked so well, so quickly.

The human brain produces all kinds of chemicals that control different, vital functions. I was born lacking the chemical responsible for self-soothing. There's evidence of this (which I've only recently put together) that goes back to when I was an infant. I find Psychology and the human mind fascinating; if it weren't for Chemistry (and Biology) I'd probably be a Psych major at school. I am genetically and environmentally disposed to anxiety, but the lack of the chemical serotonin amplifies ordinary anxiety into a debilitating problem.

I can remember years where I wasn't motivated to do anything; the only reasons I did accomplish anything were routine, force of will, and guilt. It's difficult to describe being completely disengaged from the world, because I'm not sure many people understand how severe it is. Imagine viewing everyone and everything from behind a layer of glass; you can hear others, see others, and interact with others - to a point. But they lack almost all understanding of you, and you of them. Ah, my metaphors are no good tonight. Suffice to say, people who cannot self-soothe lead very rough lives due to being under constant, high levels of stress. My father is a perfect example of this, and four months ago, so was I.

I would like to take this moment to speak to people who happen to read this blog and who might be depressed. I'm sorry for you; not because you can't handle what you've been given, but because you have a long, hard road ahead of you and the work never ends. But let me mention, (lest you think I support giving in to depression), that it DOES get better. I promise it does.

There's a saying floating around in therapists' offices and groups: Build a life worth living. Overcoming depression is a choice and a fight; the first few steps are incredibly difficult, and almost impossible to take alone. I hope that you are blessed with friends and family who don't let you shove them away; I know I am. These people, so stubborn and so convinced of the good you can't see in yourself, are the true heroes of any fight against depression. They haul you up because - difficult as it is to believe - there is something good in you that you can't see; you're not worthless, not hopeless, not lost or broken.

I lack the ability to calm myself down. I'm a reluctant drug user, but sometimes there is such a thing as "better living through chemsitry." (Never thought I'd say those words, haha.) Please don't be afraid to try the medicines available to you; despite the constant propaganda about drug companies and unnecessary drug use, these medicines were developed for a reason. You are that reason. I am that reason. Anyone whose life is improved, even the tiniest bit, is the reason for all that research.

To the people who I used to be, wherever you are, whoever you are: we hear you. The world hasn't abandoned you; you aren't alone. There is something more than darkness, than sadness, than misery. You'll have to find a way to take your first step that works for you; I don't even remember mine. But the work and the fight are worth the effort...as I am reminded every single day, in thousands of ways.

Do not give up, do not give in. Build a life worth living. Find one thing you love, like, or laugh at. Just one thing.

Just keep looking. 

WolfGrrl